


platonic, romantic -- it's all semantics

by ThaliaClio



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF James "Rhodey" Rhodes, BAMF Tony Stark, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Healthy Relationships, Iron Man 2, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Iron Man 1, Post-Iron Man 2, Pre-Iron Man 1, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Protective Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Relationship Reveal, Secret Identity, Secret Marriage, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, blatant overuse of dashes and italics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-06-30 19:42:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThaliaClio/pseuds/ThaliaClio
Summary: Over the years - despite everything - Tony and Rhodey make it work. They really, really make it work.





	1. part 1

**Author's Note:**

> or: how love, friendship, and a pinch of healthy communication make things like 12x better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre Iron Man

 

They get together at MIT -- Tony, so sleep-deprived and manic he seems drunk, pulling Rhodey, half-awake and equal parts  _ amused-concerned-curious _ , into the basement lab of Tony’s too expensive off-campus house. 

_ Hello, Mr. Rhodes. I am JARVIS. _

He whirls, already laughing and grinning like a maniac, mirroring the expression on Tony’s face because  _ holy shit  _ **_it worked_ ** \--  **_he_ ** _ worked _ . 

He can’t help it -- he picks Tony up and spins him and spins him and spins him and Tony plants a big, smiling kiss right on his lips and they’re both still laughing. It doesn’t even register as  _ significant _ to either of them. 

It’s only in the morning, waking up under Tony on the couch, drool seeping into his sweatshirt and hair tickling his nose, that Rhodey thinks  _ huh _ .

 

-

 

It’s not easy, loving Tony. 

He’s caustic and abrasive and Rhodey never, ever  _ really _ understands him. Trouble still finds him on the rare occasion he isn’t the one seeking it out. The best Rhodey can do is tell him he’s going to get hurt and come along for the ride. 

Still Tony does it. Still Rhodey comes with him.

He pisses Rhodey off and infuriates him and laughs 90% of his problems off. He begs for attention every way he can -- directly and indirectly.

And yet --

He’s kind. He’s generous. He’s so vulnerable and open and just begging for someone to break his big, giant, soft heart. He has a million ideas and is happiest when he’s building and creating and  _ fixing _ things. He loves without reservation and wants nothing more than for the people he cares about to be happy. 

He’s funny and desperate and lonely and sweet and has a smile that wrinkles the corners of his eyes --

And --

Rhodey loves him. Without reservation or exception.

No matter how  _ angry _ or how  _ confused _ \-- Rhodey loves Tony to the very core of his soul. It defines him. Best friend, boyfriend -- Rhodey will be there in whatever way Tony wants.

Drool soaked into his sweatshirt and hair tickling his nose, Rhodey knows what he wants. Another morning like this. Every morning like this.

 

-

 

Tony makes him an omelette. 

It’s terrible. In some places the edges are burnt and the middle is raw and runny and only half of it has cheese. But -- Tony is blushing and babbling and trying not to look him in the eye while staring at him as he eats. 

He eats the whole thing.

“So… how was it?” Tony asks, stopping his tirade against the newest physics professor. He’s trying so very hard to sound nonchalant, but he looks dubious, almost bashful, even.

Something warm and soft blossoms in his chest, and what can Rhodey do but laugh? He stands up, going to the counter and cracking some eggs and knocking his hip against Tony’s. 

“Fucking terrible, Tones.” he says, still smiling softly and meeting Tony’s eyes. “But I’m a pretty shitty cook too. I’m sure JARVIS can teach us how to make a decent omelette, though.”

Tony laughs and doesn’t seem quite so ready to run away. He relaxes against the counter and snags a piece of toast. “Queue up some Julia Childs, J. We’re cooking some motherfuckin’ omelettes today!”

 

-

 

Rhodey ships out in a week. It’s almost everything Rhodey has ever wanted. He just has one last thing to take care of. One more very important thing.

They’re in the shop, fixing DUM-E’s arm because he and Butterfingers got into a slap fight. DUM-E is pretending to pout, but is practically preening over the attention. 

Rhodey catches Butterfingers and U wheeling slowly forward and nods at them. 

Tony’s mumbling about donating DUM-E to the community college again, barely audible around the screwdriver in his mouth. 

The lights in the lab dim slowly, and a hologram comes up, little bursts of blue and white. It takes Tony a second to look up, but when he does, his jaw drops and the screwdriver hits the ground with a  _ thudclank _ . 

“Are these stars?”

Lights reflect in Tony’s eyes, and his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks. Rhodey can’t remember him ever looking more beautiful.

“It’s an exact replica of the night JARVIS came online,” Rhodey says. “Our first night.”

Tony turns back, face open and full of wonder and joy. Rhodey sinks to the ground and pulls on of Tony’s hand into his own.

“Marry me,” he says, soft and breathless.

Tony has a million reasons to say no -- the Air Force, SI, Howard, the paparazzi. 

“Yes,” Tony says, smiling and soft, dark eyes shining with the reflection of the stars.

 

\- 

 

They don’t buy rings. They don’t file paperwork. 

But -- JARVIS got an online certification as a Minister for a Church Rhodey is pretty sure doesn’t actually exist last week when Rhodey asked him to help design the star display.

DUM-E stands next to Tony. Butterfingers stands next to Rhodey. U holds the ink.

“I promise to make you amazing omelettes every Saturday,” Tony says with a smile, bent over Rhodey’s hand and carefully tracing the lines.

“I promise to always make a fresh pot of coffee when I see it’s empty,” Rhodey says, joy mirrored in his face, barely feeling the sting of the needle. 

“I promise to mostly listen to the voice in my head that sounds like you and tells me not to do really dumb things,” Tony says, passing it over to Rhodey.

“I promise to enthusiastically participate in kind of dumb things on occasion.” Tony’s smile gets even wider if possible, not even flinching at the first touch of the needle.

“I promise to tell you the truth, always,” Tony says softly, watching the lines be drawn, permanent and heavy.

“I promise to trust you, always,” Rhodey says, finishing the final line.

Rhodey sets the needle down and resists the temptation to run his fingers over the fresh ink. 

Today’s date.

“I promise to love you,” Tony says, running one hand down Rhodey’s cheek.

Rhodey looks up, awed and honored and so full of warmth and happiness. He holds Tony’s hand to his face and kisses his palm.

“Forever and always,” he finishes softly.

 

-

 

Being apart is shockingly easy. 

Tony goes back to school a few times, gets a few more degrees he doesn’t  _ really _ need just to be around people who understand what he’s saying. He spends the rest of his time in the bowels of SI, getting his hands dirty with the R&D department and delighting in “controlled” explosions.

Rhodey goes on 16-month deployments and doesn’t hear his husband’s voice for days, weeks at a time.  _ (He develops a habit of rubbing the inside of his ring finger and relishes the days he gets night watch. He spends more time looking at the stars than he should and sleeps with a smile,  _ **_husband_ ** _ echoing in his head.)  _ He gains the respect and loyalty of his unit and moves more quickly through the ranks than anyone expects.

Tony insists otherwise, saying he and JARVIS have always known. Rhodey smiles every time and never denies it, and Tony always repeats it anyway. Rhodey never tells him he needs the confidence on his harder days, but Tony seems to know anyway.

They call and write and Tony sends stupidly lavish care packages that the whole unit loves. Rhodey never falls even a little bit out of love, and Tony always welcomes him home with open arms.

“Are you ever mad at me?” Rhodey asks one night, curled on Tony’s chest as they lie on the couch. “For leaving you all the time.”

“Never,” Tony says, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “You’ll always come home.”

 

-

 

It can’t stay good forever.

_ “They’re dead. I-I, James, they’re dead. Mom’s  _ **_gone_ ** _ and I don’t want it -- any of it.”  _

JARVIS has to have pulled some strings because he knows Tony can’t right now, and nobody would grant him leave but -- Rhodey is headed home the next day.

He finds Tony in the music room, sitting on the piano bench. There’s a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey on the floor and an empty tumbler on the piano. Disjointed notes ring out, uneven and jarring.

He holds Tony up while he pukes, holds his head when he cries. 

He’s in the front row the day of the funeral, holding Tony’s hand there too.

 

-

 

Tony inherits SI, too young and full of grief and resentment.

In truth, Tony is CEO in name only. He lets his godfather, Obadiah, control the business side while he stays buried in R&D, surfacing only for press events and galas.

Rhodey stands by, quietly supporting his husband on the bad nights and playing along with the nonchalance on the good ones, for three months before he changes his approach.

“Oh baby,” he says, soft and sad.

Tony hums in response, sitting on the ledge of the building with a glass beside him. He’s 80 floors up and a quarter bottle of whiskey in, but he only barely sways. 

He doesn’t turn to look at Rhodey, so he walks over, swinging his legs to sit beside Tony. He presses close, Tony’s body almost feverishly hot even through the layers of both their pants. Tony’s head is bent and staring at his hands, clenching and unclenching in his lap.

Rhodey reaches over and takes one. Tony resists for half a second, but then goes lax, tilting so that his head is on Rhodey’s shoulder. His breathing is shaky and loud.

“My hands are still steady,” Tony mumbles into the cotton of Rhodey’s shirt. “I -- for some reason I thought they’d be shaking.”

“Do you trust me?” Rhodey asks, lacing their fingers together and resting his cheek on Tony’s hair.

“Always,” Tony says without hesitation. “Always and forever.”

“Let me help you,” Rhodey pleads. “Please, don’t -- don’t make me watch you spiral. I can’t let you fall.”

“You could always leave,” Tony breathes. It’s more than an admission -- it’s an offer, an out. He doesn’t even sound angry.

“Never,” Rhodey swears. “I love you. Always and forever.”

For a long, long time Tony doesn’t say anything at all. 

“Okay,” he finally breathes, tightening his grip on Rhodey’s hand. “Okay.”

 

-

 

Obediah doesn’t like Rhodey very much. 

His showman’s smile is always a little more forced when he sees Rhodey walk into a room beside Tony. He “forgets” to invite Rhodey to events.

The feeling is mutual.

“He feels… slimy,” Rhodey tells Tony the morning after SI’s latest press conference.

Tony rolls his eyes and slides a plate across the counter. Tony’s omelettes are something legendary these days, and Rhodey immediately shoves a forkful in his mouth.

“He’s a businessman,” Tony says over the edge of his mug.

“You’re a businessman, and you’re not slimy,” Rhodey throws back.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Half of the public would disagree with you.”

“Half of the public reads too many tabloids,” Rhodey says dismissively. He’s not going to be sidetracked. “I know Obediah, though. For a decade and a half now.”

“And I’ve known him my whole life.” Tony sits beside Rhodey and snags a bite of the omelette he just made. “He’s my godfather.”

“Maybe you’re too close to the problem.”

Tony sets down the fork and takes a hard look at Rhodey. 

“You’re serious about this.” It’s not a question.

Rhodey sighs. “I am. Something is wrong, babe. He just… I think he’s hiding something.”

Tony doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look away either. Rhodey holds his gaze. 

“J, start looking into Obie’s private servers. I want to know anything he hasn’t told me.”

Rhodey reaches out and cups the back of Tony’s neck. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For what it’s worth, I hope I’m wrong.”

Tony quirks up on side of his mouth, small and not even close to genuine. “Platypus, you’re basically never wrong.”


	2. part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are better but not always good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iron Man 1.

Two weeks later, and JARVIS has found a private server. The only way to access it is to  _ physically _ access it.

“So he’s hiding something,” Tony says.

Rhodey reaches up and straightens his bowtie. Tony’s looking to the side and chewing on his lip. Rhodey considers his words, smoothing the shoulders of Tony’s tux.

“Yes,” he says finally. “And we’ll deal with it, whatever  _ it _ is. But tonight is a good night, okay? You get to have tonight.”

Tony finally meets his eyes. After a long moment he lets out the breath he'd been holding and smiles. He reaches out and takes Rhodey’s hand in his, fingers automatically going to trace over the numbers on the inside of his ring finger.

“Does this mean I’m finally old?”

Rhodey chuckles and raises Tony’s hand to kiss his knuckles. “Babe, you’re only 30. I’m four years older than you.”

Tony hums and steals his hand to run it over Rhodey’s hair. “You’re right -- I can see a few greys cropping up. Maybe it’s time I find myself a new hot, young thing.”

Rhodey leans in slowly, watching Tony’s eyes sparkle with amusement, and suddenly dips Tony for no reason other than to hear the startled, helpless laugh Tony makes. He holds him there for a second, both of them smiling, dopey and in love.

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried,” Rhodey whispers against his lips.

 

-

 

It’s one of the rare occasions when Rhodey gets to escort Tony to the frontlines, barely a week after his birthday. They still haven’t gotten the chance to access the server, and Rhodey can’t help but be relieved that Tony will have a few thousand miles between him and his godfather for the next few days.

Tony is still Tony though, and arriving anywhere on time might send him into anaphylactic shock.

He pulls up an hour late for a flight on his own private jet, tires squealing. Rhodey rolls his eyes and stands next to the stairs, doing his best to look properly chastising.

“We left your mansion at the same time -- how the hell are you still late?” Rhodey complains as soon as Tony steps out of the car. 

Happy steps out of the passenger seat, just barely catching the keys when Tony throws them back. 

Tony smiles beautifically and smacks a kiss to the side of his cheek as he steps up.

“Road snacks,” he says, proudly brandishing a greasy paper sack.

Rhodey opens his mouth to say something, but his stomach beats him to the punch, growling loudly. 

Tony’s smile turns to a triumphant grin. Rhodey rolls his eyes, but grabs the sack and follows Tony up the ramp and into the jet. 

 

-

 

There’s an explosion.

The stories get it wrong. When bad things happen, when your adrenaline is pumping -- things don’t slow down. You speed up. A split second, half of a heartbeat, and Rhodey can see everything.

Shattered glass sparkling in the sand. 

A pink mist still in the air. 

His driver, a woman he’s known for two years, choking on the blood filling up in her lungs.

He wrenches the door open, heart pounding in his ears. It’s loud, so loud -- screaming and guns and  _ where is Tony, where is Tony, wh-- _

There -- he’s standing, he’s alive,  _ he’s alive _ .

“Rhodey!” Tony, his Tony,  _ his husband _ , screams, eyes white all the way around.

“Get down!” He shouts back, desperately afraid in a way he hasn’t been since his first tour. 

His gun is up and in his hands --  _ where are the shots coming from? Where are the bombs coming from?  _ **_Where are they?_ **

And then he sees another one -- another bomb. He watches it land -- right next to Tony. He’s already moving, still yelling at Tony to  _ run, move,  _ **_run_ ** and then --

It goes off. 

He falls, ears ringing and half-blinded.

When he finally gets to his feet, another soldier he doesn’t recognize under his arm, he stumbles to the crater the bomb left.

There’s nothing left but a puddle of blood.

 

-

 

He almost gets discharged four separate times.

 

-

 

It’s been less than a week.

Stane calls him, voice full of pity. Talks about  _ moving on _ and  _ the good of the nation _ .

Rhodey just hears  _ give up, go home _ . Rhodey just hears  _ he’s lost, he’s  _ **_gone._ ** Rhodey just hangs up on him.

He hates him. There’s no grief for his lost godson in that voice, so sure  _ lost _ actually means  _ dead _ .

 

-

 

It’s been a month.

The only sign of Tony is the puddle of blood in that crater. 

He’s not dead. He’s not dead.  _ He’s not dead _ .

Rhodey can still taste smoke in the air. The sand in his hair never gets completely washed out.

He’s on leave right now. Involuntary. It was that or be discharged. And he still needs the Air Force. He doesn’t know what to do.

He goes to the only place he can think of.

Pepper’s there, in Tony’s Malibu mansion. She’s sitting in front of a stack of unsigned papers with Indeed pulled up on the computer and tears in her eyes, but she throws back her glass of wine and looks him in the eye when he comes in the door.

“Welcome home,” she says. 

They both know she doesn’t mean it. 

This isn’t home, not without Tony.

Later that night, Pepper holds his hand, the two of them sitting on the edge of Tony’s pool. The water is green with algae, leaves floating on top. She tells him she still hasn’t applied for a new job. He tells her the search is still ongoing.

Her eyes are full of tears and so are his, but neither of them cry. They don’t speak for a long, long time.

“Bring him home,” she finally says, squeezing his hand once before letting go and walking inside.

 

-

 

It’s been two months.

He goes back to Afghanistan as soon as they let him. 

Still every breath tastes like smoke. He’s afraid to look at the stars. 

His mom calls him. She’s been crying, he can tell. She loves Tony, has loved him ever since Rhodey first brought him home. 

Rhodey doesn’t remember what he says, but he’s so, so tired. His heart hurts and he hasn’t slept a full night in eight weeks.

“Bring him home,” his mom says, voice thick and full of grief.

 

-

 

It’s been three months.

He carries JARVIS with him everywhere, on his phone and the little invisible earbud that Tony gave him two years ago.  He hacks every satellite he can find, searching, searching,  _ searching.  _

At night when he can’t sleep JARVIS updates him on DUM-E and U and Butterfingers -- he knows that Tony will want to hear about their kids when they find him.

Every morning JARVIS updates him with possible new search parameters.

Finally --  _ finally _ they get a hit. 

An explosion.

“Bring him home,” JARVIS says, so human and determined.

 

-

 

Three months. Three long, slow, painful fucking months -- they find him.

A suspected terrorist base is suddenly up in flames, smoke tower miles high, and Rhodey just  _ knows _ .

His heart beats in tune the the  _ thumpthumpthump _ of the chopper blades --  _ tonytonytonytony _ **_tony_ ** .

And -- _there_.

Stumbling through the desert, fucking filthy and  _ alive _ .

He’s jumping out of the chopper before it even touches down, running, running, running.

Tony’s on his knees, peace sign held high, and there’s something  _ glowing _ in his  _ chest _ , but he’s there, he’s there, he’s  **_there_ ** .

“Next time you ride with me,” he manages through the tears, already yanking Tony to his chest. 

He’s so hot, warm under Rhodey’s hands and cheek, and he smells like sweat and blood and gunpowder, and he’s  _ alive _ . 

Tony’s chest shakes with sobs, fingers curled into fists against Rhodey’s back.

 

-

 

Tony passes out before they even get him on the chopper.

Not before whispering in Rhodey’s ear --  _ it’s in my chest, it’s  _ **_in my chest_ ** _ , don’t -- don’t let them take it. I need it. _

Rhodey wraps him in a blanket and doesn’t let any of the other soldiers look at him, let alone touch him.

 

-

 

“Stane wanted to stop looking a month in,” Rhodey tells him a week later.

Rhodey was supposed to be yelling at him, trying to convince him to keep the weapon production aspect of SI up and running. They'd already had that conversation, though, a dozen times through the years. Rhodey was only surprised it had taken this long.

"Less, honestly," Rhodey pushes through the silence. "He told me to give up after a week, but waited a month to pull SI funding."

It’s a painful thing to hear, but they’ve never kept secrets. Rhodey can’t start now, not even to spare Tony his heart.

Tony inhales deeply. He doesn’t look surprised, and that’s maybe worse than if he were. Instead he looks nervous, distracted.

“I have something I need to show you.”

Rhodey frowns, but follows Tony into the elevator quietly and without protest. Tony hits the button for the workshop and then turns to look at him.

“Don’t freak out.”

The doors open. 

Rhodey freaks out. 

Then he asks for his own suit.

 

-

 

They never find Stane, but they do find his records. Tony holds a press conference, somber and serious, and lays out almost everything -- the double dealing, the murders, everything but one thing. 

A bland man in a suit from an organization Rhodey’s never heard of tries to stop Tony afterwards, but Happy shoulders him out of the way and they keep walking. 

That night Tony and Rhodey spend the night on the beach.

The waves crash on the shore, foam rolling up on their bare feet. It’s very quiet.

A few miles out there’s a man in a half built suit of armor, sinking and rotting well below the surface.

“Thank you,” Tony says.

“I’m sorry,” Rhodey says.

They sit in silence for a long time.

“I can’t stop,” Tony whispers, words almost lost to the sound of the waves.

“I don’t expect you to,” Rhodey says, only barely louder. He reaches out and grabs Tony’s hand. “You just don’t get to do it alone.”

Tony hums and shifts so that he can rest his head on Rhodey’s shoulder.

“The palladium is going to kill me. In the next year, I think. Two tops.” Tony says.

Rhodey’s heart stops in his chest.

“No,” he says.

Tony hums softly. He doesn’t stop the slow circles his thumb is drawing on Rhodey’s hand. 

“It will,” Tony says, sounding entirely too at peace with it. “I… I haven’t been able to find another solution. JARVIS hasn’t found anything. The best we’ve been able to do is find a way to extend it a few months. Chlorophyll.”

“No,” Rhodey says again.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Tony and Rhodey just a little bit younger in this mostly because I think Rhodey would have caught on shenanigans too soon for it to work with Iron Man's timeline


	3. part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He gets by with a little help from his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iron Man 2

Tony’s 31st birthday rolls around, and Rhodey finds himself shocked at how quickly a year has passed and how much has changed.

The news periodically runs “WHO ARE THE IRON MEN” specials, but they still haven’t put two and two together. Rhodey’s officially filed his papers and will be retiring in 6 months, just before the Christmas season, and the timing is only a little on purpose. He was tired of the infighting and politics and warmongering.

Tony is tired and anxious these days, manic and depressed in equal measure. Rhodey feels helpless and useless and finds himself thinking back to the months after the deaths of Tony’s parents.

It’s midnight and they’re been watching Pepper’s homemade Best Of “Iron Man Is…” compilation. Chuck Norris is a popular candidate, mostly but not entirely as a joke.

“Y’know, Musk isn’t a terrible guess,” Tony slurs against Rhodey’s stomach. He’s been tilting steadily to the side since they started, and finally landed face down after his seventh scotch. “Right-ish skillset, at least.”

“He looks like a wax figurine of himself,” Rhodey shoots back.

Pepper covers her smile with a drink, but Happy doesn’t bother, laughing outright. She looks up at him, face going soft and warm for a beat. Rhodey can’t help but hide his own smile into his drink. They aren’t there yet -- _yet._

Tony sits up suddenly, almost smacking the back of his head against the bottom of Rhodey’s chin. The three of them all blink at him, Colbert cracking jokes in the background.

“Let’s go _flying_ ,” Tony breathes out, eyes shining.

Pepper opens her mouth to reply, and Happy’s making the same face he makes when Tony suggests jumping in everytime they go to Nascar, but then Tony’s up and moving before anyone can say anything.

Rhodey’s moving behind him before Pepper and Happy finishing inhaling to speak.

Rhodey slides into the elevator just as it starts closing. Tony’s bouncing on his feet, hair wild and unstyled and swinging gently in front os his eyes. Rhodey’s heart aches just a little bit even as he smiles back; he doesn’t see that as often as he wants to these days.

“I solved the icing problem,” Tony tells him.

Rhodey laces their fingers together and smiles back. “I know. I helped apply the coating to the armours.”

Tony laughs, childish and thrilled, and skips out when the doors open to the workshop.

Rhodey shakes his head at JARVIS when Tony tells him to suit up, stepping into the assembly instead.

“Let me show you the stars, baby.”

The frankly terrible line has Tony laughing hard enough that it distracts him from not being in the suit himself. He sweeps Tony into his arms, holding him chest to chest and opening the face plate when they get up high enough.

Lights reflect in Tony’s eyes, and Rhodey’s pulled back to another life, another moment.

He does the only thing he can do and kisses his husband under the stars again.

“We’re going to fix this,” he promises.

For a split second it almost looks like Tony believes him.

 

-

 

Being CEO suited Pepper far better than being Tony’s personal assistant ever had.

She’d managed to get a Bachelor’s in Business while still working -- SI had a very generous company paid tuition program -- and had plenty of on the job experience working in the accounting department and then directly for Tony.

And still the job -- _chafed_.

It wasn't just too much, too soon -- though that was definitely part of it. No, Pepper knew that something was very, very wrong.

Tony’s been getting quieter, smaller. Still more vibrant and alive than any other person Pepper’s ever known, but -- dimmed.

He won’t tell her what’s changing, what’s happening. He just smiles and tells her she’s doing better her first month that he had.

Rhodey gotten -- tense. He’s stretched, thin, anxious. Pepper feels like she’s watching him walk to the edge of something dark and terrible, and he’s one good push from falling into it. Whatever’s happening to Tony -- it’s nudging him closer and closer by inches.

Happy can see it, too. They don’t talk about it, but sometimes Pepper grabs his hand and he lets her squeeze hard enough that it must hurt without saying a word. He squeezes back, softer.

With Tony falling back and Rhodey tightening up, Pepper find she needs help.

“Yes, thank you,” she says with a smile she doesn’t feel.

The younger man across the desk is nervous, twitching, and responds with a smile Pepper can tell he doesn’t feel either. He shakes her hand, palms sweaty and cold.

“We’ll be in touch,” Pepper promises.

The man whose name Pepper’s already forgotten stutters out some kind of thanks as he stumbles out the door.

Happy comes in after letting him out, gently clicking the door shut behind him. He tosses her a rattling bottle as he sits. Pepper catches it automatically, checking the label and tossing back a few ibuprofen dry. A headache throbs in time to her heartbeat.

“What was wrong with this one?” Happy says.

Pepper sighs and leans back in her chair, watching the swinging sticks go round and round and round on her desk. The perpetual motion drives Tony as insane as it calms her.

* * *

 

“Too nervous. If he can’t handle a polite interview then he certainly can’t handle a ruthless board meeting,” she finally says.

Pepper sighs again, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. She wishes she weren’t wearing mascara so that she could properly rub at her eyes.

Happy reaches out and grabs her hand. It’s the first time he’s ever reached for her first. She hadn’t even heard him get up.

“I’ll send the next one in in a few minutes.” He squeeze once, softly, and then lets go.

 

-

 

It goes well enough, but something about the woman sits… wrong with Pepper.

“J?” She calls out.

“Yes, Ms. Potts?” JARVIS responds immediately, smooth voice coming from the phone on her desk.

He was installed in the entire building, she’d found out after taking over as CEO. Nobody else knew, aside from Tony and Rhodey of course. Even she had thought it was just in this office because he only ever spoke through this one phone and only when Tony spoke to him first.

“What did you think of Ms. Rushman?”

“On paper she’s an excellent candidate,” he says easily. “Picture perfect.”

“That’s what I thought,” she says slowly. “Perfect.”

“You don’t sound as though you think she’s perfect,” JARVIS responds, curious almost. “Would you like me to look into her further?”

“Yes, please,” she says, half-distracted as she pulls up a new page on the computer. “Could you ask Rhodey to meet me for a second interview tomorrow at noon?”

A “working interview” should be cover enough. Rhodey is well known as the military liaison to SI and having a potential personal assistant sit in on a “meeting” is plausible enough. She hates to put Rhodey in a spot like this, but nobody has better instincts for liars than him.

She sets to work, emailing the security team something cautionary but nonspecific. Happy sends he a text saying they’ll go over a more detailed plan after the most recent sweep of the building.

“Ms. Potts,” JARVIS cuts in as soon as she presses send. “I’ve found something.”

JARVIS shoots it to her computer without her having to ask. Her brows jump up and down as she rotates through surprise and concern, reading carefully through the hasty overview JARVIS is still adding to as she scans.

“Call Happy,” she says. “And Rhodey and Tony. This… can’t wait until tomorrow.”

 

-

 

Natalie Rushman does not get a call back.

 

-

 

The same bland man from last year’s Obie press conference pops up at SI headquarters. Agent Coulson, he calls himself. JARVIS has found a way to fully integrate himself into the little known and easily forgotten organization from which  “Natalie Rushman” came, but even if he hadn’t -- the man’s timing is noticeably suspicious.

None of them are much impressed with the “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division”.

Two minor alerts go off near the penthouse. Two security teams are quietly dispatched upstairs, a third downstairs.

 

-

 

Coulson smiles dully and says he’ll wait when the receptionist tells him that Ms. Potts and Dr. Stark aren’t available. Romanov and Barton shouldn’t be long in sending the current and former CEOs of SI his way.

He’s unobtrusive and polite, sitting in the corner of the lobby. No less than four security officers are in the room with him. The are no other people waiting.

Coulson fights the urge to look behind him.

Two hours of silence and the hair-raising feeling of being watched by someone unseen, and Coulson finds himself questioning his agents for the first time in a long, long time.

Finally the elevator doors open. The man who steps out isn’t quite who he was hoping for, but intel suggests the the military liaison to SI is in even closer contact with Stark than his current CEO. Coulson mentally filters through possible approaches as quickly as he can as Colonel Rhodes marches toward him.

He stands, straightening his suit and extending one hand. Professional concern seems the most effective based on Rhodes’ military career, business involvement, and personal friendship with Stark.

Rhodes doesn’t hesitate to shake, squeeze a hair too hard to be polite. Coulson doesn’t flinch.

“I hear Mr. Stark isn’t feeling well these days,” he says, casual and as friendly as he can.

Rhodes pins him against a wall, forearm against his throat.

The four guards in the room, two on either side, draw weapons -- _tasers, non-lethal_ \-- but none of them have a good angle. The prickling down the back of Coulson’s neck intensifies.

Caught off-guard, unarmed and feeling suddenly very out of his depth, Coulson raises his palms to either side and swallows carefully. His Adam’s apple scrapes painfully against Rhodes’ arm.

“If I catch you or Fury sniffing around here again you’ll find out _exactly_ what happened to the last man that tried to fuck with Tony,” Rhodes snarls into Coulson’s ear.

He drops his forearm from Coulson’s throat and straightens his coat. There’s something unguarded and vicious in Rhodes’ eyes. Rhodes’ is hoping he steps wrong, Coulson knows.

Coulson rubs at his throat and watches him carefully.

“I’ll leave a card at the desk,” he finally says, walking away and carefully not putting his back to the Colonel again.

“You do that,” Rhodes sneers.

He watches Rhodes nod once, firm and decisive, towards the corner Coulson had just been standing in. In the center of small black glass square, tucked in the corner of the window pane, a smaller red pinprick blinks green.

“You can pick up Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb where you left them,” Rhodes calls out after Coulson drops a card on the reception desk.

Coulson freezes.

“Unharmed?” he asks.

“This time,” Rhodes says, and it sounds like a warning.

Coulson hurries.

 

-

 

Rhodey catches Tony watching old family movies, exhausted and caught somewhere between nostalgia and anger. There’s a green glass on the table in front of him, only half finished.

Rhodey sits next to him on the couch and tugs him to the side until Tony rests his head on Rhodey’s stomach. For a few beats the only sound is Rhodey’s nails lightly scraping against his husband’s scalp.

“They need a better name,” Tony says listlessly.

“It’s definitely a mouthful,” Rhodey says easily, continuing to comb his fingers through Tony’s hear. It’s a little greasy and unstyled. It reminds him of MIT.

They’re watching Howard spew nonsense, and Rhodey can’t help but sneer when he calls Tony his “greatest creation”. He’s about to say something when Tony suddenly bolts upright.

“Rhodey,” he breathes out. “ _Rhodey_.”

He turns, eyes bright, and filled with _hope_ for the first time in months.

“Dad just gave me an idea.”

Rhodey helps him tear apart his lab. They blast Queen and dance and it’s far more fun than it should be. They’re laughing and happy and so fucking _relieved_ they feel drunk.

Right before Tony flips the switch, he stops. "James, I..." 

"Hey, hey." Rhodey jerks forward, cradling Tony's head in his hands. "Two things -- none of that James bullshit. Even my mom calls me Rhodey most of the time now. That's 100% your fault, own it." Tony laughs wetly, tears gathering in his eyes, but a smile on his face. He clings to Rhodey's hands. "Secondly -- secondly. No dramatic deathbed confession because you are most definitely  _not_ on your death bed. Okay? If you die today, I'll find a way to resurrect you just to kill you myself."

"Yeah, okay," Tony sniffles. "Such a fucking sap." 

He doesn't pull away when Rhodey wipes away his tears.

"Let's do this, hero," Rhodey says.

Tony grins and presses a kiss to Rhodey's face, and it feels like  _hope_  instead of resignation for the first time in a while.

"Let's do this," Tony repeats and then hits the button.

Rhodey confirms that Tony tastes like coconut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah in this 'verse the public don't know who pilots Iron Man or War Machine. But Pepper and Happy know about Tony and Rhodey. And now SHIELD does, too. Or -- kind of. They never know as much as they claim to.
> 
> NOTE:
> 
> This is as far as I've pre-written, and classes are starting back up this week. I've still got an outline and several scenes pre-written so hopefully I'm not too slow!


	4. part 3.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is suspicious for very good reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost the end of Iron Man 2

“I think I did okay,” Tony pouts, falling back against the couch and snuggling into Rhodey’s side.

Rhodey laughs and ruffles his hair, and as much as Tony tries, he can’t quite keep the smile off his face.

Pepper rolls her eyes at the pair of them, shaking her head. Happy hasn’t stopped smiling all night, arm over Pepper’s shoulders and fingers tracing nonsense patterns on her shoulder. It makes Tony smile all over again just to see.

“Could have been better,” Pepper says, pointing to the TV.

On it a blonde newswoman who almost looks almost familiar -- had she been at that gala post-Afghanistan? -- talks through the chaos of the night. The conference center where Hammer had been hosting his drone show is nothing but rubble now, millions of dollars worth of property damage and a billion dollars worth of broken tech covered in dust. She praises the Maria Stark foundation and SI for their quick response time and assistance to emergency services. Hammer is condemned for his faulty drones. 

The identity of the Iron Men is once again up for debate.

_ “--are these mysterious heroes? Why won’t they show their faces, or are they truly just advanced robots? Stay tuned f--” _

Rhodey picks up the remote and mutes.

“Everheart is tenacious, I’ll give her that,” Rhodey says drily.

“Oh! Christine!” Tony slaps his forehead. “God, I couldn’t remember her name and it was fucking killing me.”

Rhodey  _ taptap _ s a finger to the reactor. “Hopefully nothing kills you for a while yet, hero.”

Tony tries to fight back the automatic blush that pops up everytime he hears the nickname, but it creeps up anyway, warming his face. Rhodey smiles back, bright as the sun, and spreads his hand to cover the reactor entirely.

“I’m gonna kill you -- both of you -- if you keep doing that shit,” Happy throws in, breaking them out of their reverie and sending them both into a giggle fit.

Tony -- very tactfully, he thinks -- elects not to bring Happy’s own PDA into the discussion. He’ll wait until the relationship is a Relationship to start teasing.

“How did Vankov know who you were?” Pepper asks in the quiet after. There’s an edge of concern there, and Tony honestly can’t tell if it’s for him or for the sake of the company. Both, more likely.

“My dad stole his dad’s designs for the original -- non-functional, may I add -- arc reactor. He said he’d recognize it anywhere,” Tony shrugs. “Guess he put two and two together.”

He tries to bury the twinge of guilt. He should have looked deeper into who SI had hurt, into what he was responsible for. But this was, maybe, mostly, Howard’s mistake. That’s what Rhodey told him, and Rhodey was so very rarely wrong.

Rhodey  _ taptap _ s his reactor again, softly this time, and Tony blinks back into the present. 

“What about Hammer?” Pepper is still speaking, his small lapse in awareness unnoticed by  _ (almost) _ everyone.

Rhodey answers this one.

“Even Vankov didn’t trust that weasel. If he knew we were the ones in the suits, he would’ve outed us immediately.”

Tony snorts at the phrasing. Rhodey rolls his eyes, but doesn’t try to hide his smile. 

“And the agents?” Pepper continues, undeterred and unphased. Tony feels warm behind the reactor - pride. He was right to make her CEO. She’ll do better than he ever did.

Still, Tony groans and closes his eyes, tucking his face into Rhodey’s neck. “Let’s deal with them later. Back to celebrating.”

“This is later, Tones,” Rhodey reminds him. “We’ve had too many of them sniffing around. They know something. And they are very much the kind of people we don’t want to know anything.”

“Fuck. Fine. J, any updates?”

“Not as much progress as we’d hoped for, Sir,” JARVIS says, sounding vaguely put out. “None of their systems are integrated online. The  Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division is mentioned on multiple redacted documents, generally pertaining to black ops and espionage. Howard Stark was mentioned on the first known document mentioned  Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division six months prior to his death. After reviewing the A Stark Summary files,  Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division is never mentioned directly, but another name on the same document -- Colonel Nicholas Fury -- was found.”

“A Stark Summary?” Happy asks, confused. 

“The ASS Files,” Pepper clarifies with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s apt,” Rhodey says.

Tony picks up one hand, holding it up for a high five without looking. Rhodey immediately returns the gesture, also not looking. 

“That’s the guy the first agent, Coulson worked for,” Pepper continues, completely glossing over the sidebar. That  _ warmproud _ feeling comes back again.

“If he really has been around since Howard, he’s probably some kind of top brass,” Rhodey responds.

“M and the double-O’s are officially our biggest problem then.” Tony shift, sitting upright again and grabbing a tablet off the coffee table. “I’m done with this whole ‘we work from the shadows’ cat and mouse bullshit.”

Everyone sits up straighter.

“What’s the plan, Boss?” Happy asks.

“We need to step up the timeline on Man Behind the Curtain Protocol, have it coincide with the unveiling of our Clean Energy Initiative. Rhodey’s last day [in the army] is coming up, so he’ll be fully established under SI’s Security Division. We can start working with Legal on buttoning up those intellectual property claims global security proposals. PR needs to start leaking hints online. I don’t want this to be a surprise.”

“And Fury?” Pepper asks, already typing away on her own tablet.

“Let’s drag him into the light, too. J, call ‘em up. It’s time for all of us to meet.”

\--

Natasha doesn’t like this plan.

She’s told Clint. She’s told Coulson. She’s told Hill. She’s told Fury.

And yet -- 

Here she is, participating in the plan.

Fury, Clint, Coulson, and herself all received an email the day before with no sender and no subject. None of the techs could find anybody’s digital fingerprints or even a virus. When they finally opened it 12 hours after it was sent, they found a digital RSVP, covered in glitter with little cartoon images of themselves waving from the corners.

 

_ YOU HAVE CORDIALLY BEEN INVITED TO _

_ THE FIRST ANNUAL _

_ SUPERHEROES AND SPIES SOIREE _

_ Tomorrow, 10pm _

 

_ *COSTUMES PREFERRED _

_ *NO PLUS ONES _

The address at  simply

 

_ Stark Tower - penthouse _

Fury swore -- more than usual. Even Coulson joined in.

A few pieces clicked into place, but she didn’t ask for confirmation. Not yet. 

Fury and Coulson knew more than they were letting on, she knew. She still doubted they knew anything close to the full truth.

The plan -- which, again, Natasha did not and still does not support -- was very simple. Show up and talk their way out of it. Violence was unlikely given the location of their meeting, but not impossible, so they’d all be armed of course, but not heavily. The real weapons were the hidden truths of the Stark family history and a few very specific secrets belonging to the living Stark.

Simply stupid, she grumbled to herself, checking her watch. 9:50pm.

“Not like it can be any worse than Budapest,” Clint signs at her from across the van.

She rolls her eyes at him, signing back, “Don’t jinx us. We don’t know what we’re walking into here.”

“I’m hoping it’s an actual costume party,” he signs, grinning.

Natasha doesn’t bother responding, the van rolling to a stop, but she finds herself feeling less pessimistic despite herself.

Stark’s head of security, Hogan, she remembers, is waiting for them outside the car. He doesn’t say anything as he walks the group of them into the elevator. Inside is big enough for the way he deliberately keeps away from them to be obvious. He looks like he can’t decide if he wants to threaten them or not. Natasha almost wishes he would just to stop the side-eyeing.

_ Ding. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not dead! Just swamped with grad school work. Reviews and kudos fuel my ability to not die of sleep deprivation and finish this story.


	5. part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting goes to plan. Not Fury's plan, but someone's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-Iron Man 2
> 
> (Sticking with fanon/comic book Clint because MCU did him dirty)

Hogan leads them down an empty hall and into a conference room with no windows. Clint feels tension building in his spine and belly despite himself. He wishes he had his bow at his back and not some bitchy pistol at his ankle. Hogan closes the door as he leaves.

_ You might have been right _ , he signs to Natasha.

Natasha shakes her head just barely and blinks three times. Pauses. Widens her eyes.

Three cameras in the hall, none in the room itself.

Clint wishes he’d pushed harder for the “heavily armed” option. They each drift until each corner is occupied. Nobody sits down. Everyone stares at the door.

The door slams open, and only decades of training keep Clint from flinching.

“Okay, so Fury’s clearly M, and Coulson’s probably Q. I’m guessing Natashalie is OO7 and that makes you --” Stark’s running his mouth before the door finishes opening, dark eyes landing firmly on Clint in the furthest corner. “--Moneypenny.”

It’s the first time Clint’s ever actually met Stark. He feels pinned down, exposed under the weight of his full attention. 

“I did shoot Nat once upon a time,” he shoots back, mouth running on autopilot.

Stark tips his head back and laughs, breaking eye contact. Clint feels like he can breathe again.

“With friends like you,” a new voice says drily.

Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, two months away from retirement. Longtime weapons liaison for the Air Force, and, rumor has it, the future Deputy Director of Research for SI’s R&D Department. 

He’s out of uniform now, pausing to hold the door for Hogan and Potts to enter the room as well. The new foursome take seats at one end of the table, looking around with raised eyebrows until the rest of them do as well. 

“I’m hurt,” Stark pouts from where he sits at the head of the table. “Look, platypus -- nobody’s in costume.”

“Very rude.” Rhodes, seated at Stark’s right hand, doesn’t look away from the SHIELD side of the table. He seems particularly focused on Fury. 

“I don’t see anyone on your side wearing fucking spandex, either,’” Fury growls.

Stark shrugs. “Fair point. J?”

“Sirs will find your cases under the conference table,” a smooth British voice intones from the ceiling.

Even Coulson flinches.

Stark ducks under the table gleefully, reappearing with two metal suitcases with very familiar color schemes. Rhodes smiles broadly at Stark, expression softening as he rises out of his chair. It’s the first time the other man’s expression doesn’t make Clint feel like a scolded child.

_ No fucking way _ . Clint very intentionally doesn’t let his mouth fall open.

Another blink and --

“No  _ fucking way,” _ Clint breathes out even as his fellow agents leap to their feet with guns drawn.

“You are aware that those won’t do anything other than ruin everyone’s hearing, yes?” Potts says calmly. “And I believe Agents Coulson, Romanova, and Barton are already familiar with JARVIS’s protective instincts.”

“You did say you wanted the Iron Men  _ and _ Stark to be considered,” Clint chimes in, still seated. “Three birds, one stone?”

Slowly --  _ very _ slowly -- Natasha, Coulson, and Fury lower their guns. They stay standing, though.

Both of the face plates snap open, revealing Stark and Rhodes’ laughing faces. 

“Oh man, J  _ please _ tell me you got that on camera,” Stark wheezes out between laughs, throwing one red metal arm over Rhodes’ armored shoulders.

“Of course, Sir,” the voice -- JARVIS -- replies immediately. 

Clint quietly files the name away even as he glances around the room to look for whatever camera he and Nat had missed. A man who could selectively electrify air vents, window panes, and operate a weapons system in three separate locations at the same time was a man to be wary of. The steady stream of  _ whatthefufkcwhatthefuckwhatthefuck _ loops under his thoughts. He feels like he’s blinking too much.

“What kind of game are you playing, Stark?” Fury finally says. 

His finger is still on the trigger, even with his gun lowered. Clint can feel the weight of his own gun at his ankle. He doesn’t draw it.

“Who said this was a game, Director?” Potts cuts in smoothly from her seat at Stark’s left hand. She unfolds her hands, sliding a stack of papers across the table. They  _ swish _ to a gentle stop directly in front of where Fury had been sitting. “Sign, please. Then we can continue.”

Still nobody sits, so Clint reaches over and snags the papers himself. He wants some fucking answers.

“It’s an NDA,” he says as he skims the pages. “Boiler plate stuff.”

“Exactly,” Potts says.

Clints hums, still reading. After a second he looks up. “Got a pen?”

The meeting is short and straightforward after that, mostly. 

Fury, Phil, and Natasha all read the documents  _ very _ thoroughly while Clint leans back and throws pens at the ceiling. 

Stark and Rhodes step out of their suits to reclaim their seats. The armours -- not robots, as it turns out. Half of the STRIKE team is officially in Clint’s debt. Y’know, when it actually becomes public and he won’t get sued to Saturn and back for breaking the NDA. -- close up and stand sentry in the corners behind Stark’s group.

Fury slides the signed papers over with a characteristic glare. Clint very carefully does not roll his eyes face at  _ Fury Face #67 - Fuck you I’m not actually confused _ .  

“Care to explain what the fuck this song and dance was all about?” He says, leather coat creaking as he crosses his arms and leans back.

Potts holds up a finger, flipping through the pages. Coulson’s eye twitches. Fury’s frown deepens. Natasha narrows her eyes. Clint tries very hard not to yawn.

Too many  _ ticktock _ s of the clock later -- in Clint’s humble opinion --and Potts puts down the papers, nudging them towards Hogan. 

“We called this meeting and prepared these  _ legally binding _ documents to propose an alliance of sorts,” she finally says.

Hogan tucks the signed papers into a briefcase, the  _ click _ of the locks echoing in the conference room.

“Alliance,” Coulson replies neutrally.

“We’ll help out with your Super Secret Boyband  _ if _ you start sharing  _ all _ intelligence related to the threats said Boyband would be fighting.” Stark’s awfully nonchalant about bringing up a Top Secret group that doesn’t even technically exist yet, chair tipped halfway back as he stares at the ceiling.

“In other words, the only way you’re getting  _ our  _ firepower,  _ our  _ intelligence is if we know what you’re using it for,” Rhodes clarifies, much more focused and intent.

“That means closing down the weapons program,” Stark adds, tipping back down to meet Fury’s eye.

“Don’t pretend,” Rhodes cuts in when Fury starts to open his mouth. “You’re smarter than that.”

“You have 24 hours to discuss our terms,” Potts says, gathering the papers and rising. The three men on her side follow suit, lining up and heading to the exit. 

For a long minute nobody gets up or says anything. That low, quiet stream of  _ whatthefuck _ that had been playing in the background of Clint’s thoughts since the Iron Men suits came out is just getting louder. Speaking of --

The eye lights in the suits suddenly come on, sending all four of them flying out of their chairs with weapons drawn.

“I suggest you exit the building, Agents,” the growing mystery that is “Jarvis” says.

They listen.

 

\--

 

They get another email with a single attachment. A picture of Fury, Phil, and Natasha standing guns drawn and in various stages of  _ shock-fear- _ **_whatthefuck_ ** with Clint still seated, looking equally shocked but much more entertained.

Fury accepts the deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up -- The Avengers


	6. part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhodey retires. Life is good, but the world seems determined to ruin that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Avengers

Rhodey tips his head back, breathing in the crisp air. It’s cold, so unlike the deserts he’s spent half of his life in. When he opens his eyes he watches his breath curl and unwind, just another cloud. A night sky, tinkling with different stars than he’s used to, hovers above white capped mountains and a clear lake. He feels like he’s in a storybook. 

The wooden porch creaks, and he turns to see Tony coming towards him, two steaming mugs in hand. They have Iron Men faces on them, and Rhodey can’t help but smile when he takes one. Tony plops down beside him on the bench, wiggling until he’s under the blanket and pressed against Rhodey’s side.

“How’s retirement, old man?” Tony asks.

Rhodey laughs and shifts to put an arm around his husband. “Hey, respect your elders or I won’t give you a hard caramel later.”

Tony scrunches up his face. “Gross. Can I have one of those Drama bars instead?”

“Draumur,” Rhodey corrects, making his own face. “And licorice and chocolate do  _ not _ go together. Licorice doesn’t go anywhere but the trash.”

Tony shrugs. “I’m bringing a whole case back with us, and you can’t stop me.”

Rhodey laughs and shakes his head, feeling Tony’s smile against his shoulder. For a long minute, neither of them say anything. 

The military had been Rhodey’s dream since he was a kid, and he would never regret joining or serving for as long as he did, but --

He was done. He was tired. If he was going to keep fighting, he was going to do it with the one person he would always, always trust. The one person he would always protect. 

He turns his head slightly, leaning to bury a kiss in Tony’s curls. He lets his chin rest there, dark hair tickling his nose in the breeze. 

“They found Steve Rogers about an hour ago,” Tony suddenly says. “He’s still alive. I guess the serum and the ice kept him from, well, y’know -- dying.”

Rhodey tenses for a second, but Tony doesn’t add anything. He forces himself to relax. 

“Did Fury actually call?” he asks.

Tony shrugs. “Never got the chance to. JARVIS knew as soon as they did.”

“What’re they gonna do with him?”

“Guy’s still asleep, but I think they’re going to tap him to be lead singer in the Boy Band. ‘Man With a Plan’ and all that jazz.”

Rhodey waits for a beat. “You okay?”

Tony exhales hard through his nose. “Actually, yeah. Whatever Howard thought about Captain America, Steve Rogers is just a guy. And the only military man I’ve ever listened to in my whole life is you, platypus.”

Rhodey smiles and kisses Tony’s head again. “Not military anymore, hero.”

Tony laughs, twisting to look at Rhodey. He takes the mugs and sets them on the side table before turning back again. 

“Nope, now you’re a hero, too.”

Tony’s eyes twinkle like the stars that surround them when he leans in to kiss him. 

Rhodey stays there, foreheads pressed together and both smiling like the dopey, lovestruck fools they are. Suddenly Rhodey stands, sweeping Tony up into a bridal carry. 

Tony laughs and squeals in protest. 

“As the hero, I reserve the right to rescue my fair love and carry him off to be ravaged,” Rhodey says dramatically, trying to restrain his own laughter as he walks to the door.

Tony’s eyes darken but his smile stays goofy. “Oh, well, in that case -- thank you so much for rescuing me from the dire cold of Iceland in December. The only way to save my life is to share body heat.”

Rhodey tries his best to maintain a serious face, but a grin breaks through all the same. “There’s no time to waste.”

The door closes gently behind them, laughter echoing across the porch. 

When Rhodey wakes up in the morning, it’ll be to Tony snoring softly and drooling just a little bit on his chest. He’ll remember MIT and thinking --  _ another morning like this, every morning like this _ . He’ll be in awe of how lucky he is, of how hard they worked to get where they are. 

Right now all he can think about is the smile on his husbands face and the cold touch of his fingers against his skin and how very, very in love he is.

 

\--

 

It happens on the one day Rhodey was across the globe, in Japan overseeing a new R&D facility and engaging in talks about installing an arc reactor to power the new facility, spreading good press for SI’s growing clean energy initiatives. 

Even knowing about the Tesseract, about SHIELD poking around with its own ideas about clean energy usage -- he feels secure. JARVIS is always watching them anyway, Tony is happy and healthy, SI is flourishing, Man Behind the Curtain Protocol is proceeding with no hiccups, and he’s helping Happy look for a ring next week. It’s good, has been for a while. Life is better than it’s been in a very long time.

Rhodey should have been more suspicious. 

Loki comes. 

Tony gets called in.

“ _ No, babe, it’s all good. I’ve got JARVIS and Loki is contained, and you’ll be back tomorrow. Finish up at the facility and then you can come laugh at the weird, greasy ‘god’ with me _ ,” Tony says easily. He snorts. “ _ He’s got a British accent for some reason, and his brother -- the weird, muscle-y ‘god’ -- has an Australian one. _ ”

Rhodey sighs into the phone. “Call me if anything changes. With the suit I can get there in--”

“ _ Less than twelves hours, _ ” Tony finishes. “ _ Honestly, you worry too much, platypus.” _

 

\--

 

The missile is heavy and hot even through the suit, burning metal scalding his back. The sky is blue, so very blue, and the sun is shining and if it were any other day he’d say it was beautiful. 

He steers the heavy, hot metal through the beautiful blue sky and towards the gaping black hole, aliens pouring out and into the city below. If he doesn’t do this, they all die. If he doesn’t do this there’s nobody left to appreciate the beautiful blue sky, the shining, shimmering glass of the buildings below. He doesn’t want to go. He knows he has to.

There’s only one person he wants to say goodbye to. JARVIS calls before he has to ask.

_ “Tony?!” _

“James, I love you,” Tony says. He’s crying and he can’t stop. “I love you so much. You made me a better man. I- please, please be okay. I love you.”

_ “Tony, Tone -- no, no -- what’s happening? I’m coming to New York now, please don’t -- please stay -- I love you, I lo--” _

The screen cuts out. Tony sees the ships -- there’s so, so many of them. Earth will _ lose. _ He can’t hold on anymore -- the missile drifts. He’s falling, falling. There’s no air left in his suit and he’s so very scared. Tears gather in his eyes. The ripple of the explosion is too bright and too red and and and and --

The last thing he thinks about before he dies is the color of James Rhodes’ eyes -- warm and brown and the same color as the coffee he drinks every morning. 

_ I love you, I love you, I love y-- _

When he wake up he’s looking into blue --  _ sky blue, electric blue, JARVIS?  _ \-- and he’s so relieved and so  _ angry _ all at once. Those aren’t the right eyes.

He’s fucking starving, though, and he’s alive, and he suggests shawarma. Natashalie reminds them all of the Trickster still buried in the broken tile of Tony’s penthouse.

Tony flies and the rest of them walk. He uses the solo time in the suit to make another call.

“Platypus, baby,  **_James_ ** \-- I’m alive. I love you so, so, so fucking much. Let’s get married. A big fucking wedding with rainbow banners and glitter and enough champagne to drown the entire city.”

Rhodey starts laughing. And crying.

He says  _ yes _ though, and that’s all Tony really needs.


	7. part 5.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers meet Rhodey. Briefly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last 5 minutes of the movie

Natasha feels… off-balance. Wrong footed. Dealing with Stark seems to put her in that position a fair amount of the time. 

After everything, Stark is  _ smiling _ . 

He’s bloody and bruised and limping, and he looks giddy. The others have picked up on it, too. Even Loki.

“Did you receive good news, Anthony Stark?” Loki says as Thor drags him up from his hole in the floor. 

Loki stumbles into his brother, but doesn’t resist the magical cuffs Thor attaches quickly. He’s still looking at Stark. Loki actually looks better than he had before the invasion. His eyes are green, not blue. 

Stark seems to snap of of his --  _ daze _ . He stops looking into the middle distance, but his smile doesn’t dim when he looks to Loki.

“The best, Reindeer Games,” he says cheerfully. 

“That your planet is safe?” Loki presses. “For now, at least.”

Natasha files the threat and his demeanor and his eyes away in the back of her mind, something to be dissected and processed later. Stark’s expression doesn't change. Instead he laughs.

“While that is definitely a bonus, no.” 

Loki look like he might press for me, but Stark’s suit whines, repulsors firing up. Loki raises his hands in surrender at the same time Stark raises his palms in clear threat. Loki still looks curious, and Stark still looks near euphoric. 

“Time to go, Reindeer Games.”

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, Loki is the only one who laughs at Stark’s nickname. 

Five anticlimactic minutes later and Loki has been passed to Fury and Shield. Maria swore that this cage was as effective as the last, and Thor promised that the Asgardian cuffs and mask would do their jobs. 

With Loki -- hopefully -- secured, they all stand in the dust of a ruined New York block and Natasha realizes she doesn’t know what to do next.

Stark glances at his watch and then at the sky. He looks contemplative for a second.

“So, about that shwarma?” He snaps his attention back to them, and it startles Natasha. Everyone else, too, by the wide eyes and blinking. 

He’s still giddy, vibrating almost -- hasn’t stopped since he got to the Tower. Natasha is almost concerned. Almost.

“I have, like, _maybe_ twenty minutes, and I’m fucking _ starving _ ,” he adds when nobody answers him quickly enough.

Natasha and Clint look at Steve, and Bruce looks at Stark. Steve finally shrugs and gestures forward.

“Lead the way, Iron Man.”

It's not far from the tower, maybe two blocks away. Stark flies in haphazard loops lines, laughing overhead. Natasha and Clint walk close enough that they keep bumping shoulders. She keeps thinking about the days without him, the emptiness in his eyes when she finally found him. He grabs her hand, giving it squeeze once. She breathes easier.

Bruce walks in front, trudging forward and staring at his feet. Natasha thinks his eyes might actually be closed. Steve can't seem to decide where to look, taking in the destruction and the changes to the city as well as Stark’s sudden departure from sanity.

Shockingly the place is open. 

Or, it’s open once Stark tells the owner he’ll pay the full cost of repairs and twice the price on everything they order.

Steve’s eyes go wide as saucers, and he stays stuck in place even after everyone moved inside. Natasha turns and pats his shoulder, grinning ruefully.

“Perks of knowing Tony Stark, Captain.”

He doesn’t look any less confused, but he follows her inside all the same.

 

-

 

The food is rich and full of flavor, unfamiliar and filling. Hungry as he is, Steve finds he can barely manage a few bites. Anxiety and confusion and relief and something unidentifiable swirl in his gut, churning the food uncomfortably.

Stark bounces in his chair. Steve can see his teammates giving the man the same strange look he knows is on his face. 

The city was destroyed. Aliens were real. Their own government tried to blow them up. Stark just  _ died _ . 

And yet -- he looks like he’s two seconds away from bursting into cabaret.

Steve makes eye contact with Natasha across the table, and she shakes her head subtly in response to his nod.

A familiar whine fills the air.

Steve shoots out of his seat just in time to see  _ another _ suit of armor touchdown outside the store. Stark, on the other hand, is already out the door.

The team is on Steve’s heels, and he’s on Stark’s heels, all of them abandoning their food in similar states of  _ what the hell is happening? _

“Honey bunches of oats!” he crows out, that out of place giddy happiness radiating from every inch of him.

The suit  _ (another Iron Man?) _ opens up, and an unfamiliar man steps out just in time to catch Stark when he bodily flings himself into the air.

The other man -- tall, dark-skinned, muscular -- has a smile to rival Stark’s own, and gladly picks up Stark, swinging him in an enthusiastic circle that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Broadway play.

“Hey there, Hero,” the stranger says, still holding Stark up.

Both of them are ignoring the gathering of people at the door. Steve coughs.

He can’t see Stark’s expression anymore, but he can see the other man roll his eyes before whispering something and setting Stark down.  Stark pats the other man’s chest and turns, sticking close enough to the other man’s side to brush hands. 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve says, stepping forward and holding out one hand. 

The other man glances from his hand to his face with an expression that leaves Steve feeling like a scolded child again. After a pause that stretches just a little too long, he grips his hand.

“Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes,” the other man says. 

Rhodes glances at the team behind Steve and then back to Stark, the icy expression melting.

“I thought I told you to ride with me next time,” he says.

“I did call,” Stark shoots back. “And the suit is kind of a solo seat deal.”

Rhodes rolls his eyes, but there’s something underneath his expression. He doesn’t shift away from Stark at all.

Rhodes looks back at the Avengers, and whatever the  _ something _ is, is shuttered behind a veneer of professionalism.

 

-

 

Standing in the back of the battered group, Banner looks tired more than anything. There’s a smear of sauce on his mouth and a napkin still in his hand. But then Banner looks at Tony and down to the spot where their arms are still touching. When he finally makes eye contact with Rhodey, there’s a knowing spark in his expression. 

Rhodey makes a note to add a guest to the invite list when Banner winks.

He’s less amused by the other Avengers, gathered in a half circle and gaping at them. Rogers, trying to be in control of a situation he doesn’t understand. Romanov and Barton, spies through and through, watch them closely -- eyes flicking across him and Tony, categorizing, noting. Whatever they see, he expects JARVIS to find it in a SHIELD report by tomorrow. 

Thor looks… exactly how he thought he would, honestly. More muscular than humanly possible. Handsome. Blonde. His wide, movie star smile feels fake and smarmy.

Somewhere in the back of Rhodey’s head he knows he’s being judgmental at best, petty at worst. He still can’t find it in him to care. He’ll be more generous on a day when he hasn’t just watched his husband carry a bomb through an interspace portal.

Tony brushes the tips of his fingers against Rhodey’s palm, stilling him and halting his thoughts in their tracks. He turns to see Tony smiling softly, knowingly. Rhodey breathes.

“Hop in so I can hop on, soldier boy,” Tony says. “Or am I not riding with you this time?”

Wordlessly Rhodey steps back into the suit, ignoring Tony’s squawk when Rhodey picks him up bridal style.

“Don’t forget you have rooms at the Tower if you need them!” Tony shouts over the whine of the repulsors.

The flight is short and fast, and Rhodey can’t feel Tony’s weight and wouldn’t be able to hear him if he spoke. But JARVIS runs Tony’s vitals and flashes them up on Rhodey’s HUD.

“Sir has three cracked ribs, a concussion, and a collection of contusions and scrapes. Estimated healing time is seven weeks.” 

JARVIS pauses, and Rhodey knows him well enough to know it’s  _ hesitation _ , not processing. The pride he feels every time J proves himself to be more than a program swells in his chest, pushing out the lingering distaste for the  _ Avengers _ .

“What’s up, buddy?” he asks. The Tower shines in the distance. Home, or at least one of them.

“I couldn’t save him,” JARVIS finally says.

Rhodey corrects his flight path a little, hovering upright to start landing. He looks at the line of Tony’s heartbeat on the HUD.

“Me either, buddy.” 

The tiny blips keep marching on, reminding them both that Tony has never really needed saving anyway.

-

They stand watching War Machine take off with one of the world’s richest men in a bridal hold over the ruins of New York for just a little too long.

“What did you guys do, kick his dog?” Banner finally asks. 

Steve turns, confused -- suspicious. “I’ve never met him before.”

Steve casts his eyes over the group, something in his chest feeling  _ off. _ Banner is right. He sees Natasha and Clint glance at each other quickly. 

“You’ve met him.” It’s not a question.

Natasha glances at Clint, and he shrugs at her. She looks like she may be considering a lie for a beat, but her expression drops and she just shrugs, as exhausted as Steve feels.

“Once,” she finally says. “It was when you first woke up. SHIELD had intel that might’ve helped Stark. I was sent undercover to asses him. Our handler was sent in overtly.”

“The intel didn’t help?” Steve asks, confused. 

“We never found out if it would’ve. Rhodes kicked the handler out, and our cover was blown. Didn’t actually meet Rhodes ourselves until later when Stark sent us a party invitation.”

Steve frowns. There’s pieces missing, but Natasha has turned away. He doubts he’ll get the whole truth out them today, and he’s too tired to even try.

“Let’s head back to the Tower for now,” Steve finally says.

-

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tony mumbles, breath warm against Rhodey’s lips. 

Rhodey kisses him, soft and steady until neither of them can breathe. When he pulls back they’re both panting. He presses his forehead against Tony’s and doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“I love every piece of you, the old ones and the new ones.” Rhodey says on an exhale, fervent and fast, the words pouring out of him like sand as he spreads one hand across Tony’s chest. The arc reactor glows through his skin, cool blue reminding him that Tony's still alive. Still here. “Thank you for being the type of man who would sacrifice himself to save the world. Thank you for being the type of husband who would come back.”

Tony’s eyes flutter closed, the tips of his eyelashes just brushing Rhodey’s, too fast breath blowing across Rhodey’s cheeks. 

“I trust you,” he says. There are tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, and Rhodey swipes them away softly.

“Trust me to keep the nightmares away, just or a little while.”

“The team will be here soon.”

“JARVIS can keep them busy for a while. Fury will want a debrief anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Wedding plans


End file.
